


Are We Pretending or Pretending to Pretend?

by xseaxwitchx



Series: Jaytim Week 2k18 [4]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, fake relationship au, no editing we die like men, still love that dork, tim may be kickass but when it comes to relationships...and fake relationships...not so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xseaxwitchx/pseuds/xseaxwitchx
Summary: Tim needs a date to a gala to get people off his back; what better person than the intimidating Red Hood?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> As my tags say this is unedited. Oh well. Enjoy!

Tim sat in his living room glaring at the Getori’s charity gala invite in hopes of setting it on fire. The Getori family possessed great wealth, equal to the Wayne’s family wealth, and to skip a charity of theirs that one had an exclusive invite to spells out social suicide.

Since Tim’s parents died and he turned 20, the amount of gala invites rose to ridiculous numbers and he suspected it had to do with the fact his hand remained untaken. He had gone to a select few to keep up appearances because while Bruce legally adopted him, the Drake family name still carries weight in parts of the country Tim failed to know his parents had influence in and not the Wayne family name.

Honestly, half the time he felt tempted to release to the press he has a secret wife in a foreign country or some shit because he’s grown tired of telling people off politely at those galas that he wants to still live before settling down (not that he can tell them about being Red Robin).

All the previous experiences at those galas raced through his head as he sat planted to his couch, mouth turned into a frown and arms crossed across his chest, nails digging into his arms. If life could imitate art, smoke would be bellowing out of Tim’s ears and a train whistle would be heard in the background.

His anger flew through the roof when he opened the invitation because he did research previously into some of the richest families in the country and found the Getori family having been involved with sex trafficking to earn half their money; he also found the court dismissed the case on the grounds of little to no solid evidence to convict the husband and wife, which he so desperately knew was bullshit given the family lived in Blüdhaven where the corruption starts from the top and trickles down to the bottom, even worse the Gotham.

“Of everyone I fought, of all the decisions I had to make to save people’s lives, why does this feel like the hardest?” he mumbled to himself, pulling his lips into a pout and rightly acting childish.

He sighed, pulling a hand down his face, flopping back on his floor, softly hitting his head. He groaned out of frustration, knowing the damage he could inflict on his family name by not going but also not wanting to deal with perverts or flirtatious people.He could always bring a fake date.

Wait.

He could bring a fake date.

A fake date.

If he advertised he had someone, people will leave him alone.

His eyes shot open and he sat up quickly, earning him a momentary lightheadedness and a knock to his coffee table with his funny bone. Unsure of whether to clutch his head or arm, he settled for a weird mix of a hiss and a groan, pulling his knees up to his chest which earned him a hard knock to the knee.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, cursing whatever lived in the sky to eternity.

He pushed off the floor with his hands, stretching his hands above his head and clasped them together. He twisted his spine, giving a small smile at the  _ crack _ he heard emitting from the toxins being released.

His feet carried him to the kitchen as he popped his knuckles. He started humming a melody absentmindedly, digging through his utensil drawer for a big spoon to eat his eggless cookie dough with.

He grabbed the eggless cookie dough from the counter, unscrewing the lid and throwing it on the counter. He turned around, back leaning against the counter as he spooned a bite of the delicious confection into his mouth.

He relaxed some, knowing he had no pressing matters today, but the invitation decision that he had to RSVP for before next week. His shoulders dropped at the thought.

Who the hell would he even ask? His bisexuality is well-known in Gotham after being caught on dates with a few men. Maybe a man would be best, but what decent men are in Gotham anymore?

As he wandered to his couch and plopped down on it, he made a checklist in his mind of possible people. 

_ The guy at the cafe around the corner? He’s cute, mild-mannered, nice, tall, considerate, but how would he take me asking him to a gala in a month? Alright, too risky. The barista at Starbucks? He’s good-looking, has glasses, nerdy, likes Star Wars, tall, gentle, but again, asking him to a gala in a month? It all sounds too desperate and I don’t wanna give them that kind of life, _ Tim thought, continuing to eat his eggless cookie dough.

_ Okay, it doesn’t have to be an actual boyfriend. Maybe...Jason...will help me? Just act like my boyfriend, not that hard. We pretend we’ve been together for like three months, then have a nasty break-up after the gala. Simple. Just gotta...ask him. Not so simple. _

A loud knock at his door snapped Tim back to reality as he lept of the couch and sprinted the short way to the door. He opened it, spoon hanging out of his mouth, and his eyes met the figure of Jason who wore black skinny jeans, a red hoodie, and Converse All-Star high tops. In one hand he held a bag of chinese takeout and in the other a movie. Tim stood at the door, rooted in his spot, and stared at Jason.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about our weekly movie and takeout,” Jason said, an amused look playing across his features.

“Uh, what? No, I just, uh...what time is it? I swear it was like five a minute ago,” Tim responded as soon as he pulled the spoon from his mouth and stabbed it into the eggless cookie dough. Jason eyed the jar, one eyebrow quirking in question.

“I decided to come by early tonight. Besides, it’s 15 after six, you idiot.” Tim stepped aside as Jason walked in, making his way to the kitchen counter to set down the food and movie. He leaned against the counter with his elbows, watching as Tim threw the spoon into the sink and twisted the lid back on the counter of eggless cookie dough, setting down near the coffee maker.

“So why’d you come early tonight? I could’ve been taking a shower or training; who knows, maybe jackin’ off,” Tim asked, swiping the movie from the counter and strutting his way over to his TV, popping the movie in and settling on the couch. Tim noticed that over the years of hanging out with Jason, his language and humor got increasingly inappropriate and dirty--not that he particularly minded.

Jason took the bag of chinese food and strolled over to the couch, placing the food on the coffee table before plopping next to Tim. He started unfurling the bag, slowly taking out two dishes, chopsticks, utensils, napkins, sauce packets, and fortune cookies.

“You got me the orange chicken, right?” Tim asked, eyeing the containers. Jason stopped his actions, turned his head to Tim, and gave one of the most unimpressed expressions Tim ever saw.

“No, Tim, I got you the red chicken because I want to burn you from the inside,” Jason deadpanned, then continued his work. He took the lid off one of the containers, took a pair of chopsticks, and handed them to Tim. The younger took it graciously, poking at the orange chicken and rice sitting in the container.

Jason opened the remaining container, the smell of shrimp lo mein wafting to his nose. He took the other pair of chopsticks, leaned back with his food, and started eating. When the menu came on the TV, Tim pressed play on his remote and the pair ate, Jason’s slight slurping and the TV the only noises filling the silence.

Tim hardly payed attention to the movie and his food, thinking about how he should ask Jason. 

_ Okay, it’s not like you’re asking him on an actual date, you’re just asking him to  _ pretend  _ to be your boyfriend for one night. Not that hard. But would he accept? He’s legally dead, so he can be whomever he wants. Besides, it’s not like you like him that, he’s just a colleague. A handsome colleague with soft-looking hair, plump lips, thighs I want to bury my face between, arms I want him to pin me down with, a neck I want to lick and mark, eyes that make me feel lost in emotion, a torso that’s probably nothing but hard muscle; oh God, would I love to see his torso muscles taunt from the built-up tension of denying his rel--- _

“Timbo? Tim? Earth to Drake?”

The hand waving in his face and the voice brought his attention back to the present moment. “Yes? What?”

“You were staring at me; you good?”

Tim’s face flushed (though out of embarrassment of being caught staring or his thoughts, he failed to know) and he turned away with a cough. He said nothing, hoping Jason wouldn’t press the matter further.

The older man didn’t, opting to finish his food and continue watching the movie.

Tim took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the movie and his food, anything to keep his mind occupied. 

About half-way through, Jason paused the movie, getting up to go to the bathroom. Tim took this as an opportunity to seize the invitation from the table; whether Jason noticed it or not, Tim didn’t know, but the physical invitation helped ground him in some way.

When Jason got back, his eyes met the sight of Tim hugging a piece of paper to his chest, face twisted into a frown, sitting Indian style on the couch. Jason stayed by the piano, observing the scene in front of him, trying to piece together what could be bothering Tim; unfortunately, he came up with nothing, so he walked back to the couch and took a seat.

Tim’s eyes followed him from the piano to the couch, careful to only watch movement and not meet Jason’s eyes. As Jason sat down next to him, Tim turned himself to face the other man, gulping down his fears.

Jason turned his head towards Tim, watching.

“I have a question before we resume the movie,” Tim stated slowly.

“Yeah?” Jason responded, eyes widening a fraction in a signal to tell Tim to go on.

“I’vebeeninvitedtoagalaandIneedyoutobemyfakedate,” Tim answered, saying everything in one breath.

“A’ight, try again, a little slower this time.”

“I’ve been invited to a gala and I need you to be my fake date.”

“Why?”

He dreaded the part where Jason would inevitably ask why.

“Because I’m tired of people always hitting on me at these things”--here he handed Jason the piece of paper to look at--”and I just want to be left alone for once. It doesn’t have to last too long, like we could have a nasty break-up a month or something after,” Tim explained, desperation creeping into his voice.

Jason gave the paper one last look before looking up at Tim with a blank expression.

“Okay.”

Tim had to brace an arm against the couch to ensure he didn’t fall off. “Okay? As in, you’ll do it?” If Tim’s voice sounded too hopeful, he failed to notice.

“Of course. But you’ll have to buy me a suit. I outgrew the ones I have.”

“Maybe you can ask to borrow one of Bruce’s?”

“Aw, you’re cute, Timmy.”

With that, Jason thrusted the invite back to Tim, then resumed the film.

Tim sat dumbstruck, not believing Jason actually agreed to go through with it. He felt butterflies in his stomach and his heartbeat increase in excitement as he turned his attention back to the movie. He already had a vague idea of the plot, but he couldn’t care less.

And in honesty, he didn’t want the “nasty break-up” aftermath.

He found himself wishing it would be real. He found himself wishing to know this man more intimately. He found himself wishing for the simple things like holding hands, strolling in the park, sleeping in on a Sunday morning and snuggling into this man’s side, into his warmth.

He found himself wanting.

And that’s what scared him the most.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. Enjoy!

Tim fiddled nervously with his shirt sleeve as he stood outside Jason’s door a week later after sending out the RSVP and setting a date and time for tuxedo fitting.

Externally, Tim looked fine; he wore a blood-red dress-shirt leaving the collar and top buttons undone, midnight-black dress-pants, and black dress shoes; a gold-plated watch adorned his wrist. He didn’t bother doing anything with his hair as it fell around his face, perfectly framing his delicate features.

He looked like a rich man’s dream and a poor woman’s heartbreaker.

Of course, he looked that way for two reasons: one, he could store a couple of knives and a few gadgets in his outfit (maybe Bruce rubbed off on him a little too much); two, if Jason gave him the responsibility of buying a tux, Tim will look the part of a rich man and uphold both the Wayne and Drake name in the shop he had in mind (he’d make sure to buy a sturdy tuxedo for Jason and because of Jason’s bulky frame, the tailors will be tricky to heckle into charging him less because they charge more for bigger sizes and additional fees for alterations).

Internally, Tim could power the entirety of Gotham’s power grid with the amount of nervous energy coursing through his veins. His stomach twisted in ways he wished it didn’t, his brain went slightly fuzzy, and his heartbeat would not stop increasing. Thankfully he wore a sweat-proof undershirt because he didn’t trust himself not to perspire due to both the Gotham heat and his nervous energy.

The safehouse location Jason gave him did not sit in the best neighborhood and Tim knew some people eyed him from far away, but not daring to touch a son of Gotham. Tim knew he could take any of them in his civilian identity and chalk his fighting up to “boredom” if any questions arose, but he really wanted to avoid fighting at any costs.

He knocked on the door in front him in a pattern only the Bats knew. Nothing.

Tim scrunched his face into a frown and tried again. Still nothing.

Worry started to creep into his mind, taking hold of him. He had to restrain himself from tearing down the door.

He tried a third time. Nada.

Growing concerned, he reached into one of his pant pockets and pulled out a lockpick set, getting to work on the two locks on the door.

“Ya knows he got lotsa security on tha’ door. Tryin’ ta get yerself killed, rich boy?”

Tim immediately stood up and whipped around, a knife in his hand he reflexively retrieved from his sleeve. He points at the stranger as he takes in the man’s appearance: average height, dirty (obviously works in the industrial district), yellow teeth (lack of dental hygiene and smokes), clean-shaven, wife-beater shirt, baggy jeans, clear upper-body strength, worker boots. _The only way he would know about Jay’s security is either he tried to break in or he’s one of Jay’s outlooks,_ Tim thought.

“What do you want?” Tim asked, voice as professional as ever.

“I think it’sa more what you want,” the man responded. “If ya need the Red Hood, he’d be next door, righ’ o’er there. Came in last night all grumblin’, so the old hag helped him. To wha’ extent, fuck if I knew.”

The man flashed Tim an unnerving smile then walked away, disappearing into a door further down the hall.

Tim took a deep breath, then looked at the door next to Jason’s. He took a few steps towards it, preparing himself to knock. Before his fist met the wood, the door flew open and an old lady stood in the door frame, nearly looking him in the eye.

“Oh, you must be Jake; Jason told me he was expectin’ ya, but I guess the poor dear didn’t git around ta textin’ ya last night before he conked out. Come in, darlin’, I have some food if ya’re hungry,” she stated sweetly, flashing a nearly-toothless smile his direction.

The name threw him off, but he figured Jason wouldn’t give anybody Tim’s real name. He followed the old lady inside, spotting Jason sleeping on the couch and snoring greeting Tim’s ears. The young man internally rolled his eyes; of course Jason would go out on patrol at two A.M.

So Tim did anything a sane person in his situation would: he silently crept towards Jason and backhanded the anti-hero across the face, narrowly avoiding a fist that automatically flew towards his face. Tim let out a breathy laugh, finding the situation funny for one reason or another.

Jason’s eyes flew open and frantically took in his surroundings before setting eyes on Tim’s face, his breathing decreasing with rapidity almost immediately.

“Hey, Timbo. Why’re you dressed so fancy?” Jason said, his words slurring together slightly with grogginess.

“Well, it’s 11 A.M. and I have to take you to get a suit, remember?” Tim quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Oh right, that’s today; shouldn’t have done that last night, I should _not_ have done that.” Jason ran a hand over his face, revealing the extensive cut on his arm. Tim’s eyes widened a fraction but indicated no other signs of noticing the rather off-putting wound.

“Oh, Jason! What’s the occasion, love? A suit!” the old lady exclaimed from her kitchen counter. “Do ya lads want anythin’ before ya go out? I’ve got apple pie, some lamb stew--”

“No thank you, ma’am; I was going to take Jason and myself out for lunch. We could bring you back something if you like,” Tim said, cutting her off as Jason shoved the blanket off himself, then got to his feet.

He brushed Tim’s shoulder as he passed on his way to the apartment door. There, he stopped.

“Oh, don’ worry about me, dearies--you have your fun,” she responded.

“Thanks for the food and medication, Mema; any way I can repay you?” Jason spoke up.

“Nah, you keepin’ nasty criminals from ‘round these parts is payment enough. Now go change and have fun with your boyfriend.” She went and shooed Jason out, then made her way over to Tim to attempt to do the same thing. Tim got the hint, however, and followed after Jason, the door shutting behind him.

“Why did she call us boyfriends? And who’s the guy that lives down the hall? Also, why were you there and not here, at your apartment?” Tim inquired.

“In order,”--here Jason took his key from his pocket and pushed it in the lock, undoing the door and pushing inside with Tim following behind--”I don’t know, he’s one of my correspondents, and I could barely see through a really bad concussion I sustained last night, so Mema helped me out; it’s not the first time she did.”

Tim took a second to process what Jason said as he made his way to the ratty couch in the living room, making himself at home.

Jason went into his room to dress in the nicest clothing he had: the old suit he still had from a gala in a foreign country that he and Artemis went undercover for. (He may or may not have acted as her wingman to get her a proper date or at least laid. Spoiler alert: it worked.)

He got dressed as quickly as he could with his knife wound still aching.

The apartment fell silent as one man got dressed to go to a too-expensive suit place and the other man contemplating how he planned to survive faking a relationship with the one person he had the most genuine feelings, dare he say, _love_ , for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always nice!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great but you know what's even better? Comments!
> 
> Know what makes my day brighter? Kudos AND comments!
> 
> Drop by my tumblr of the same name to hang!


End file.
